So Long, Lonesome
by harbingeraz
Summary: Adulting in the new millennium is already complicated- family expectations, jobs, online dating. What starts out as a casual friendship becomes something more between two unlikely pairs. Mature Michonne. Young Rick. fluffy, angst, and a whole lot of puns.
1. Chapter 1

Two hours before Rick was headed off towards the next phase of his adult life, he stopped by to say his farewell to his comrades in arms at the medical center. The sun peeked through the clouds on the wet August day. The summer that never was played tricks on everyone's emotions that year and he was ready for some dry heat and most importantly bar-b-que. He had plans to stop by his family's ranch in Texas before heading to assist with the Monroe campaign at his father's insistence. They were second cousins or something and his father had already committed him to a six-month contract as penance. Walking the medical campus the familiar tingle of being an agitator and advisory to the place he'd spent the last four years thumped through his feet, landing squarely in his heart.

Maybe this was goodbye for good, but before he became some Republican errand boy he'd say farewell to the few people in his life that gave him space to just be himself. Not some country bumpkin trying to play at intellectual. A few familiar faces milled about their spot with signs and posters. The megaphone had been turned off at this point and they had just finished their closing prayer. He walked up and greeted Tyrese and Siddiq who were talking animated amongst themselves. Father Gabriel stood close by talking to the few other students who were milling about talking through the next moves for their summer hiatus before their return to classes that Fall. Most of the faces were familiar, but one stood out quite clearly. She was definitely new and stood by Tyrese's side talking strategy. A few nods later, three sets of eyes landed on his face. Tyrese, wearing an olive t-shirt and cargo shorts smiled a shit-eating grin and went for a shoulder pat. He'd been a decent mentor, a bit off his rocker in terms of his methods, talking all that 'love will save us' stuff but he was there for all of the kids and was about the struggle. Siddiq, who had also graduated with him, smirked at him. After a quick catch-up with Siddiq about his plans to join some firm in DC doing "political strategy" introductions were made, handshakes had, and a silence almost took over for a second before the newest member of the ragtag bunch of misfits introduced herself.

The stranger had asked about his summer plans, congratulating him on graduating. Waxing poetic about how she was looking forward to being on the other side of the institutional wall. She talked some about how she felt when she'd graduated undergrad. His eyebrows raised a bit, wondering just how this woman who looked no older than him had already graduated undergrad. She laughed when he asked how old she was, obviously amused that he thought they were peers. She chided him about a lady not telling her age, to which he shot a sideways glance.

"Let's just say, I was old enough to stay up for Y2K," she said conspiratorially. He chucked, I mean he was like seven or eight when that happened and he also could stay up since his parents were convinced they were all going to die.

"So was I," he retorted. He watched her smirk with a nod, he liked the way the sides of her mouth folded upwards as of each of her muscles embraced the smile that followed, mirroring the mirth of someone who enjoyed a challenge.

"I had a deadjournal when you had to be invited," she replied and he nodded. Ok, so maybe they weren't exactly going to social events together as teenagers, but she wasn't ancient. The two sparked up a brief conversation about the internet, where he admitted to his Tumblr days and being really into Buffy and Angel. Her, an avid Buffy fan while he stayed firmly on "Angel was a much better show" which she vehemently denied. The two talked for a few moments longer as the sun began a slow descent towards the horizon, and he regretted having to leave so soon after meeting someone he actually wanted to be around. Tyrese and Siddiq had taken leave to head back to the organization office to drop off the gear from the protest, and everyone else had wandered off as was custom after each of these vigils.

"So do you think you'll ever come back here?" she asked as they made their way towards her car. Rick had taken step beside her, watching her intermixedly, wanting to remember how her face lit up for some reason. She was, different.

"Ugg, I'm headed to Ohio for some time to help a campaign," he replied vaguely.

"Ohio... More smashing the system?" she followed. He wondered why she was so interested in what he was doing when she was so much cooler than him.

"More like becoming a neoliberal pawn at the behest of my overlord father. I wish I were going to find myself on a beach in California like some of my friends," he said to which she shook her head.

"Overlord… sounds a bit harsh to me young padawan," she said with a dorky smirk.

"Well, you don't know my father. Plus, I pegged you for more of a Star Trek over Star Wars person," he said, and she genuinely laughed.

"I'm a jack of all trades, master of none kind of gal. Anyway, I'm sure whatever you do decide is going to be great. You're obviously smart and you have a whole life to resent your parents for making decisions for you. Maybe this is a way of seeing how the other side of the political power structure works so you're better prepared to dismantle it," she offered.

He thought about it but didn't really believe her. "What about master's tools and master's houses and all that?," he asked to which she smiled.

"I'm not asking you to join the young Republicans, Rick. I'm saying, in order to defeat your enemy in the great war, you must learn how to play the game of thrones," she said with a knowing look.

"Plus, if you can't tell, I'm out here just like you and I think it's just as hard to reconcile what it means to want to be in there…" gesturing towards the buildings of the campus that held some of the greatest minds across the last century "...while also realizing that the people in there perpetuate violence against people that look like me. I get it… I'm just saying, it might not be all bad." she said turning to face him.

He watched her eyes soften at his doubt. He grew up with those people, he didn't want to play nice with them, and he sure as hell didn't want to be wearing a tie and shaking hands with sleazeballs like his father or their relatives.

At this point, they'd reach her car, and Rick glanced at her before taking a step back.

"Do you want a ride?" she asked, which surprised him. They'd just met and he was taken by how kind she was to him.

"Ugg… I live in Logan," he said causing her to laugh. He thought she said 'of course' before opening the door to her Prius, which surprised him.

"Bougie car," he remarked and she tapped him gently on the shoulder.

"You can try to catch the bus if you feel some type of way about my car choices," she said, getting in and turning on the car.

The radio blared the riffs to Amie. Rick watched her cheeks color a rose gold in the twilight, her blush shining across the lines of her high cheekbones, as she pressed the off button to the radio. He just shrugged another surprise to this woman wrapped in a mystery, covered in an enigma. The car ride was filled with the sound of the navigator and the low voices of NPR correspondents. Rick watched the city come to view as they drove along the lake, the skyscrapers took his breath away. As they merged on the highway, the traffic took them by surprise. As they waited for the cars around, the woman beside him, took her phone searching for a bit until she found what she was looking for. He wondered why she seemed so excited until the first riffs filled the vehicle. His belly rumbled as the lyrics took over. He heard her humming a bit until they got to the chorus and he felt himself open his mouth to scream "California (California)

Here we come!"

The Phantom Planet tune faded as the traffic cleared and she existed towards his home for the last year. All of his stuff was gone, and he was sleeping on an air mattress his roommate had before his flight. Rick watched his building come into view, and he felt the features on his face fall a bit. This was it, he was leaving tomorrow. Rick watched her double-parked, with hazards on, and turned to him with a small smile on her face.

"Here you go padawan, home safe," she said, watching his face crunch in displeasure at the new nickname.

"It was nice to meet you. I hope your adventures are fulfilling, this is a great time for you to just live," she said with the air of someone who'd seen a lot of this world.

"Thanks. It was nice to meet you Michonne," he said, leaning into the open door before closing it firmly and bouncing up the stairs.

* * *

A few days later Rick stood in his childhood bedroom, rummaging through his closet for his loafers. His father had insisted that loafers were required for this meeting. The trip home had been quick, it almost felt like a fever dream, to be lying on the air mattress in Chicago one day and to be in Houston the next. Finding them smashed under a suitcase that was haphazardly thrown into the closet, he rubbed a little spit on the side where a scuff was. He rolled his eyes at himself, he should polis them, he knew that but he was out of fucks to give at this point. Franklin, his father, was up to something and he didn't want any part of whatever bullshit was waiting for him downstairs. Before he marched to his death, he checked the internet. He had about 15 minutes to kill before anyone came looking for him and so he turned to Facebook to see what everyone was up to. Updates scrolled down his feed as he watched all of his friends and a few nemesis lives unfold, someone getting engaged, a "this is what a beach bod looks like" picture of someone, and the drudgery of people screaming into the void. A picture of a huge rally came up next. He spied Tyrese and Siddiq, and a few others with signs and white shirts. It was packed, and he felt a surge of pride at the image of journalists there with cameras. One face stood out to him, a smile connecting with the camera even as everyone else looked angry or even upset. He tapped the picture for a closer look and saw her name tagged. Not overthinking it, he clicked her name and sent a friend request, I mean, they were friends right. He wanted to spend time looking through her profile but the sound of rushing footsteps alerted him that his time was up.

"Rick! They want you," he heard his brother Jefferson say.

Everyone thought he was a Jeffery, but his parents were "big A" Americans and loved Presidents. Hell, they even named him after Tricky Dick, Richard Nixon because that's how white they were, white white people. WASPY Republican types, and sure his mothers' father was Cuban, but they'd erased that part of their story. Rick signed, straightened his tie and opened the door to his brother. Where Rick was lean and lithe with peach and gold skin tones and sharp ice blue eyes, Jeff was built like a linebacker, all muscles, like an upside-down traffic cone with tawny skin and jet black hair and hazel eyes. Tapping his brother on the shoulder, Rick watched as he gave him the 'what did you expect' look to take shape.

"You wanna just tell 'em I'm not feeling too hot?" Rick asked as a last-ditch effort to get out of this dinner.

"No can do baby bro. If I have to suffer through this farce of a gathering so do you," his brother went to ruffle his hair as he did when they were kids. The two-headed down to the dining room in their Neoclassical home. It was a bit ostentatious a home growing up but his father wanted to show that they were somebody, to who exactly, Rick didn't know.

In the sitting room, his father chatted amicably with another white guy with a suit on and slicked back auburn hair. The man was reintroduced to Rick as his cousin Reg Monroe, whom he hadn't seen since he was about six or so. Reginald Monroe's wife was a former Congresswoman for Ohio and as Rick put the dots together, he was the up and coming younger Monroe's father. Spencer, who Rick had to spend limited time in childhood, was running for Congress trying to step into his mother's shoes. Although her shoes were small, Spencer had a lot to learn from her. Looking over Spencers ads on the interest, Rick got that "I'm a really nice guy" stick but he always looked… constipated. Like he really needed to use the bathroom, and Rick wasn't sure why Frank was sending him off to do the dirty work for some blowhard who wasn't going to win.

"Franklin here's telling me you just finished up at UofC, must be smart," Reginald Monroe said to Rick, who scowled a bit before putting on the Grimes trademark poker face and shaking his cousin's hand.

"Or really lucky," Rick replied while Reg chucked.

"We're gonna need that quick wit round my boy, you ready for Ohio?" Reg asked taking his snifter off the table and taking a hearty pull. But before he could respond his father cut in,

"Of course he is Reg. Ricky's going to be putting in long hours at the office to ensure that Spencer cliches that nomination." Rick glared in his fathers' direction but just nodded an affirmative. "Where's mom?" Rick asked, glancing at Jeff who just shrugged.

"She's at some humanitarian board meeting," his father said with a dismissive wave. Rick had sat on the couch at that point and clenched his hand, listening to his father and Reg Monroe gab at one another.

"Huh," he said as his father directed the question at him again.

"I said, have you thought about what we discussed for your career once you're done on the campaign trail?"

"Yeah, I thought about it. I was offered another job that sounds more up my alley," he said, not elaborating.

"The McAllisters are willing to pay you more than what you're going to get Richard. Don't squander this chance for your pride," his father remarked taking a drink of his scotch.

"I'm not moving back to Texas. I'm going back to Chicago," he said as though it was the end of the conversation. Frank started to say something when Reg coughed to get their attention and settle the tension in the room.

"Now Frank, you know as well as I do, every young man needs to sow his wild oats before they settle down. Give the boy some leeway, he'll see your way eventually," Reg said so sure of himself.

Rick just sat quietly stewing as the two older men continued their conversation as though he and Jeff weren't present. After another hour and 30 minutes, Reg excused himself, but not before shaking Ricks' hand and expressing his pleasure at having him on the Monroe team. The silence which followed Reg's departure was cut by his father's voice.

"You're coming back here, you hear me," Franklin said before finishing his drink and walking out of the room without another word.

"That went better than I thought," Jeff said, standing and walking to the wet bar and pouring a large bourbon. Taking a second glass he filled Ricks cup and gestured to his brother. The two sat, Rick taking his tie off and toeing off his shoes. The brothers talked about Rick's last year, his plans, and Jeff told him about his job, which he hated, with the McAllisters.

"In a year, I'm out of here. Got a little nest egg from the job and I'm going to backpack through Asia," Jeff said with a smile of victory.

"Old man thinks we're gonna just up and work for his corrupt friends forever, he's dead wrong." Jeff gulped the rest of is drink, put the glass back on the wet bar and pat his brother on the back.

"You do what you want to Ricky. Don't let that asshole dictate your life for you," Jeff said before walking away. Rick took the rest of his drink upstairs into his room, holding his shoes and tie in one hand. He laid on his childhood bed, staring at the sports trophies that littered his dresser, a few photos of his family at functions mingled in between. He picked up his laptop and began looking for jobs.

An hour later he'd put in about three applications, and was feeling better about the prospect of leaving Texas when a notification caught his eye. His friend request was accepted by Michonne. Rick closed his laptop and willed himself to sleep, it was going to be a long six months.

* * *

Month 1:

It was six am, again and he had 15 minutes to get dressed and out of the hotel room in the 12th District in Ohio. So far, Rick was a glorified coffee boy for the more "experienced" campaign workers. He wasn't getting paid to do this, and his heart wasn't into it. He was here to pay off whatever imagined debt he owed his old man, and he was going to smile and try to lose his hair in the process. Getting on the bus in 13.5 minutes, he watched the other bleary-eyed young people who were also along for the ride. He'd made friends with at least 0 other people thus far. Maybe it was the snide remarks that he couldn't quite stop himself from saying or the sheer confusion as to why they had to pray before most events, but he wasn't into it.

Moving to the back of the bus, he waited for things to start moving and checked his socials. Same shit, as always. And because it was a nothing day in September and he had nothing better to do for at least an hour before they had to rally potential voters to the Monroe crusade, he scrolled. Some first day of classes pictures, a few "my backpacking trip in Europe" and a few "first job.. Who dis" rolled by. A smile graced his face for the first time when he saw a picture of the organizers. Before his brain could formulate a plan he sent a message to his new friend. Nothing deep, just a video of the song California Dreaming with an eye roll emoji.

When those response bubbles popped up a surprised Rick waited. A simple reply, she sent him back a video for California Love. He chuckled, not sure how long they could sustain this joke, but it was something to make his day seem less shitty.

* * *

Month 2:

M: Started reading the Fanon you suggested in French.

R: You always have to one up me.

M: It's not my fault that you're just not as cool as I am.

R: Well they do say beauty before age…

M: You're dead to me.

A tap at the desk he was leaning on took him out of his heated debate. Rick made eye contact with Spencer's campaign manager Andrea Harrison. They'd developed a working relationship and didn't understand how someone as smart and capable could work for the quarterback. He smiled and asked "You need something Ms. Harrison?" always reminding himself that she was his boss, whatever that meant for someone who only made photocopies of documents and passed them around. "Mr. Monroe is going to make the rounds. I'd like you to help the others with breaking down the meeting hall," she said. "I'll be right there," he said glancing at his phone to send a message. "I meant now," she said, which he just nodded and walked off without as much as a pardon me.

When the cleaning was done, Rick found a single-use bathroom and sent a flurry of texts to Michonne. She was quickly becoming a sparring partner about everything from climate change to what was the best Godfather movie. A jiggle of the knob got his attention and he offered up an 'occupied'. Finishing up his messages, he turned on the sink and exited the washroom bumping into Andrea. "Won't happen again Ms. Harrison," he said, walking away rather quickly. On his was back to the reception hall he swears he heard her say "I hope it does". Weird.

a/n: *lol, I'm sorry* I started this a minute ago and so I figured I'd post it now. Hope you enjoy this story. I have a couple of others that I'll be posting and will work diligently to finish all of my other stories that have been on hiatus. A big thanks to all the folks that checked up about updates to stories. I had the illest writers' block and a bad case of self doubt about my work. But y'all made me realize writing the stories I want is what this is all about. so Thank you (Nwfanmega, grimes1970, and Richonne4Life) Life's been a bear, but ff has been a really positive outlet. Thanks for reading (if you're reading!).


	2. Ch 2 Friends, how many of us have them

_**Month 3: **_

It was the third coffee run she'd made in under three hours. While her eyelids twitched at the sheer amount of caffeine that coursed through her body, she wasn't in any way done for the day. The quarter was coming to a close and she still had this paper to finish for _the Devil_. Walking into the kitchen of her apartment, she reached for the coffee pot. It may have been 12 am, but she needed this. The turning of the lock at the back door alerted her to the presence of one of her roommates. Banking on Sasha, she poured the heaping cup to the brim before walking to the refrigerator. Closing the door, she spied Glenn with a giant pizza box in his hand.

"Oh shit," he said, not paying attention to the fact the lights were on, and there was someone standing one meter in front of him. He clutched the box close to his chest and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Glad you're not a robber," he remarked, putting the box on the granite countertop to his right. "I'd be a shit robber if you caught me with almond milk in my hands, Glenn. Not very good thieving," Michonne remarked before heading back to her coffee.

"Final revisions?" she heard Glenn say as he took his shoes off at the back door.

"Almost done. I just need a couple more quotes before I can send it to the Devil," she said.

"Why do you have an editor you hate M? Honestly, I'm sure you could find a new editor if you spent the time," Glenn followed up.

"Glenn, I'm teaching two courses this quarter and I have a ton of new advisees. I don't have time to fire Arat. Plus, she got me a few great publications, although she does send me long-winded and passive-aggressive messages, so why would I not love her?" she deadpanned.

"Ok, so she's a bit of a hardass and maybe a jerk" re replied. "She's a fascist Glenn. She's evil. And I'm damn sure she's trying to fight me on changing my manuscript, but she's what I got for now," Michonne said.

"Eat pizza Michie, and then finish your paper... You got plans this weekend?" He asked.

"Sasha's taking me out to dinner so I can 'live a little'. Her words, not mine," she said noncommittally.

Truthfully, Michonne had survived year one of teaching on a wing and a prayer. Why did she leave her nice corporate job as a Marketing Assistant to study policy and then become a professor? Why didn't she listen to her overprotective equatorial parents when they told her that she should volunteer her time, not spend five years of her life researching, only to be thrust into a weird bubble of a whole new set of politics. She needed to live a little, and she needed a raise, a manicure, and someone to rub her shoulders. There were still reading assignments from her students to review, and she was so over the "intellectual rigor" of her program.

"Did your Dean say anything else to you about your summer research?" Glenn asked with a chunk of sausage in his mouth.

"He doesn't approve, but he can't really _do _anything about it. They hired me for a reason and this is the work I do. They're all just playing at being open-minded and using objectivity as a security blanket. They don't give a shit about the world," she huffed to no one in particular. Glaring at the computer screen, she began a flurry of typing. Taking a break when she noticed Glenn had set up shop at the dining room table with his laptop she quirked an eyebrow.

"What? I've got a whole world to conquer and I figured you could use the company," Glenn responded.

"Playing Civilization isn't work Glenn," Michonne teased, to which he threw a napkin in her general direction. With her brain feeling like the last 15 minutes of _Independence Day_, on the verge of an explosion, Michonne clicked over to Facebook. A peruse of all the people doing things that were way more fun than finishing consulting work and reading her students' lackluster response papers. A few folks from her former employ getting engaged, someone got a new puppy, her ex-fiance smiling with his new beau. She sighed, glancing over at Glenn who reminded her so much of that person she was going to marry. The biggest lol of her life to date. A photo of Tyrese getting arrested caught her eye and caused Michonne to chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Glenn asked, watching her closely.

"Tyrese," she responded.

"Mmmmm, he's a nice guy but a little weird… It's amazing that he's related to Sasha. They couldn't be any more different," Glenn said.

"He's not weird, just passionate," she defended. Just then another picture popped up of a rather handsome and very tall man with a familiar face. An oh escaped before Michonne could stop herself and Glenn had already gotten up to investigate.

"Who's the hot one?" Glenn commented.

"I think that's the future Congressman of Ohio," Michonne said..

"Not him, the other one, the shorter one," Michonne rolled her eyes at Glenn, of course, he'd comment on her very young, and yes, very attractive new _friend_.

"That's Rick. We met at SWARM, he was one of the student activists," she responded.

"He can definitely teach me how to protest," Glenn remarked.

"You're a cradle robber. He's a baby. He's younger than some of my students," Michonne remarked.

"Don't act like you're not seeing that grade A fineness, Michie. I know I pitch for the other team, but I'd flip for those eyes," Glenn offered. "Whatever," Michonne said, clicking out of the page and getting back to work.

A few days later, she was back in a scroll hole and saw another picture Rick posted of himself eating something that looked either like a really big corndog with cheese hanging off it or a really large thing of cheese with cheese hanging off of it and decided to take a gander and reach out.

M: _Hey padawan. Not sure if you remember me, but we met last summer at the SWARM vigil. How is your campaign going? _

Since their last chat about a few weeks ago they'd had radio silence. Nothing, and she wasn't sure if it was just because she'd gotten busy and created the dead air in their burgeoning friendship or if he was busy. She _was _busy, but any distraction would be helpful right about now. Regardless, she pressed send and went about her business. Hours later she received a short but sweet reply from Rick.

_R: Hey, sorry. We've been doing lots of town halls over the last couple weeks so I've been dead to the world. *eye roll* I'm p good, HBU? Hope ur good. _

It was late and she didn't have the wherewithal to respond but she chucked a bit. She'd get back to him later.

Days later, with the revisions turned in, and she didn't have to deal with Satan until next year when her manuscript was due. There were two weeks between her and the final countdown to the end of the quarter and a much deserved winter break. This weekend was all about her living a little, emphasis on the little. Getting dressed, Michonne glanced at her phone and saw a flurry of messages from her young friend.

_R: I'm at a football game_

_and there's a row of people who painted their chest with letters. _

_Do you like football? I like it well enough, ya know. _

_What's up with concessions costing sooooo much money? _

_I'm bored. Can you tell? _

_. . ._

Michonne glanced at the clock, making sure she had time and sent him a reply.

_M: You must be bored to be sending messages to someone who hasn't responded in 40 minutes. _

_R: well you just did. So, success! This reminds me of Texas, but colder. _

_M: Some Friday Night Lights?_

_R: yeah, cheap beer, girls in booty shorts and fight songs. _

_M: Nostalgic from your previous glory days? You scoping out your boo as you run onto the field. taking your helmet off to blow a kiss at the crowd?_

_R: I was in marching band_

Michonne actually laughed out loud imaging Rick with one of those band hats with a feather. She wasn't in marching band as a teen, but a few of her friends were, and maybe it was the lack of understanding about how it all worked, but she just kept thinking about the movie Drumline and Rick being hazed into playing his instrument.

_M: Let me guess you played the trumpet. _

_R: *buzzer sound* wrong old lady. I played the bassoon ty v much. Great lungs. _

_M: Your lungs better be ready to run the next time I see your petty ass. _

_R: Sry… What are you doing tn?_

_M: tn?_

_R: tonight. _

_M: I'm going dancing. Quarters almost over and I'm going to celebrate before finals. _

_R: you didn't tell me you were a student. _

_M: I'm not. _

_R: But you just said you had finals. _

_M: I give out the finals, I don't take them. _

_R: Wait! You're faculty? _

_M: Indeed padawan. _

_R: what do you teach?_

Michonne glanced at her clock and realized she'd spent 40 whole ass minutes having a text conversation with her new _friend, _acquaintance? She was late for dinner and Sasha didn't do late. Also, this was weird right? With little time to think about whatever _this_ thing was, just silly banter to fill time, she told herself she finished up the conversation.

_M: That is for another day. I'm late, and my friend doesn't do late. Talk soon_

_R: ttys_

...

...

...

* * *

_**Month 4: **_

Winter had come to the city. It was New Years Eve and with some urging from Glenn and a lot of prodding from Sasha, Michonne decided to put in the effort of going out and getting it in. Hell the spiderwebs that had grown during the longest dry spell known to man needed a dusting. So there she was roaming her closet, rifling through to find something that made her feel like the sex kitten she was, she meant is, the sex kitten she is. Plucking outfits that read too long, too matronly, too "I'm looking for my mister". Dresses of varying colors, lengths, and styles were swept from one side to the other. She sauntered from the closet of her moderately sized bedroom to her dresser. Skirts, lot and lots of skirts greeted the soft light. Too short, too long, not tight enough. She knew she was going to run late if she didn't decide.

The soft crooning of Moses Sumney's sultry voice cut through her thoughts as she picked up the knee length yellow dress with plunging neckline which left some to the imagination but little room for guessing. She dropped it on the bed and settled for a simple black dress and black tights, a throwback to the dark and dangerous past she wishes she had. She was a friggen girl scout for all of her life. Following rules, living up and often exceeding expectations. She thought about two New Years Eve ago when the world was full of those future plans. A plan with a man who promised her a strong foundation, a wedding and a marriage to plan, children to prepare for in a respectable amount of time. All of that was both a fresh scar and a distant memory. And now, she was walking on an unknown path with no plan but_ survive_ and that wasn't something to rest on.

Glancing around the peach-colored bedroom, Michonne made her way to the vanity. The bed situated in the center of the room housed a small army of decorative pillows, and a chestnut side table. The ocher vanity, a gift from her parents on her 21st birthday sat beside the west-facing window. The biggest perk of her home, a warming sunset when it wasn't freezing and if the sun ever came through the clouds. Picking up jewelry from her box, she contemplated what pieces. Something subtle, something statement, or nothing at all. She found the simple silver chain. A few minor adjustments including a maroon lip and some simple eyeliner later, Michonne's phone buzzed and she answered on the third ring.

The rapid-fire conversation ended as quickly as it started. Exiting her room, she made quick work of turning the lights off since her roommates were notoriously bad at shutting things off, sometimes even the stove. She'd never let Glenn live that one down. With everything secured, she walked the 10 blocks headphones in bouncing on the soles of her feet, to her dinner destination. A simple one-room restaurant with 15 wooden tables and tea rose colored stucco walls, a large group of 7, celebrating a birthday, two couples, one in an intimate conversation while the others stared at one another in tense silence. The matron greeted her with a familiarity of a regular and pointed for the front window. Sat directly from one another were a brawny and beefy frame of spiky red hair and a handlebar mustache and a hazelnut toned svelte beauty with a neat French braid of natural onyx hair. The two were in a heated conversation, with the redhead booming voice carrying.

"You bet your sweet cheeks." He said in reference to the part of the conversation she missed.

"Sasha..." Michonne started when she noticed her friend cocked her head to respond.

"Saved by the bell," he said getting up from the table to embrace the new arrival. Sasha pointed her finger and said, "You are so lucky! you know that?" To which the man smirked.

"Hi Abe," Michonne said leaning into the giants embrace before moving to the other side of the table to embrace Sasha. The two were dressed casually with Sasha in jeans and an olive green crop-top, a black bomber jacket resting on the back of her chair. Abe wore a white t-shirt and cargo shorts. Michonne dropped her jacket beside Sasha and plopped unceremoniously into the seat. Dinner would be a light fare because they were going all the way out.

"Balls to the wall" Abe said, "we gotta celebrate. Its last day of this shit year and I'm very proud of the pipe I laid on my queen here all week,"

Sasha groaned in embarrassment at Abe and Michonne wanted to melt further into her seat. "You are a pig," Sansa said, while Abe oinked and licked his lips. "Ok," Michonne said clasping her hands together like a teacher to her unruly pupils "Where are we celebrating?" She asked diverting the conversation from what might be a fight in the making. One never knew with the two tumultuous lovers on either side of the table. Thus, a peacekeepers' primary objective was to well, keep the peace. "Abe! Where are we going?"

"You'll see," Abe said with a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. Oh hell!

* * *

Across town, Michonne found herself in a large warehouse loft. Abstract video art projected on the far brick wall and a steady thump of the house music. The DJ rocked to the rhythm as groups of scarily clad socialites danced together. There was still room for people to stand together and talk or sit on the couches on the far side of the loft. A balcony stood to the right of the entrance and a "bar" where two just turned 21's in matching crop tops and "shorts" doled out well vodka to the ever-growing line of patrons. It was like if the opening scene of _Blade_ took place in a 90s teen drama. Michonne glances around and mumbled to herself "where, in the everliving bad cliche hell am I?" To which Sasha, who stood mum up to this point laughed. Actually laughed!

"Come on kid! Lighten up a bit!" Her friend exclaimed, pulling a flask from her purse and taking a hearty swig.

"Eh! What did I tell you?"

"That we were going to, and I quote, take a walk on the wild side. If I do recall my wild side days involved a lot more drinks and a lot fewer clothes," she mumbled the second part as Abe boomed.

"Well, welcome to the wild side!" passing an even bigger bottle of bourbon to Michonne, who took a swing, then another to steady her nerves. They were at a rave? And in her 29 years on this earth, she didn't know whether to laugh at the sheer bombastic nature of Abe or just shrug and go with the flow. A both/and calm settled as the bourbon warmed her body.

"Fuck it! Let's dance!" Michonne offered as Abe belted a whoorah and the three friends shimmied and scampered to the dance floor.

An hour and some change later Michonne found herself waiting in the bathroom line bouncing on the balls of her feet. She tried not to be pissed about having to piss so badly with one bathroom in a warehouse full of people. How did anyone manage to deal with this bullshit! Clusters of people entered the room together and emerged minutes later seemly more upbeat than before. She scoffed, of course, these kids were doing drugs in the bathroom. How predictable and also, what a waste of time waiting! Uggg she exclaimed as the line dragged on for what she could only assume would be a millennium. Giving up, she decided to take it to the streets and headed down the fire escape at the back of the warehouse watching people mill about smoking cigarettes and swigging from bottles of liquor. She took the second set of stairs to the alley and looked for some cover. Walking briskly she found a nook and did her business. Her sigh of relief was cut short as she heard two voices walking in her direction. Alone on an abandoned street she felt a strange stirring of fear that maybe she's been followed and was going to get murdered at a rave.

Moving into the light she spotted two white men one, facing a wall while the other "kept watch" talking to each other without a care in the world. How strange she thought an almost familiar feeling as she listened to their voices. Taking hasty steps she headed back to the party. Hearing the patter of feet behind her. Moving faster she made a b-line for the fire escape stairs and lost her footing. Sliding backward, she braced herself for the fall where she would probably hit her head. Sasha would kill her if she didn't bleed out and no one would find her and someone would take her phone, but the fall never came. Instead, her body landed squarely on an unfamiliar chest and she squealed, like a child. Surprisingly gentle hands helped her steady on her feet and she turned to face the person that caught her fall. Her apology had started to leave her lips when it became "I'm so sor-Rick?"

Recognition colored his cherubic face as he took a step out of her personal space. That face, she rather liked talking to over the last few months. "Hey Michonne," He replied.

* * *

a/n: Short and sweet. I'm going to try to update this as regularly as I can, cuz I'm really into this story. Apologies for any spelling or grammar errors, I try to edit a few times before I send things out, but I can't catch it all.

Also from my bad math, M & R are about 7-8 years apart in age. Ok. More to come. Thanks for giving this story a shot. It warms my emo heart to the max.


	3. Chapter 3 we do this now

_**Month 5:**_

Rick wasn't sure how to deal with his current situation and really needed some advice. It was another long 12 hour day of the Campaign and he was so over the talking points. Monroe was far more progressive than his opponent, but he still had to pander to some people with some far-out views. They were in Monroe territory, District 15, and he'd been invited to attend a donor party at the Monroe house. All of the staff and volunteers were to attend, and he was looking forward to not eating continental breakfast and cold cut sandwiches for one day. What Rick wasn't thrilled about, rather he was downright livid, his father would be attending. Why? It was beyond him, but that grouchy s.o.b. had every intention of making it an uncomfortable evening. Rick fiddled with his phone contemplating whether he should call. Did they do calls? Who calls people anymore. I mean, with the invention of text, why would you call anyone? She was a vintage millennial and had suggested that she did in fact still talk on the phone- weird. The overwhelming anxiety of talking on the phone got the better of him and he decided to text.

_R: My overlord is coming to this dinner thing I have to go to and I'm freaking out about it. Do you have a second? _

…

…

…

Rick waited for seven minutes for a response. It was, in fact, the longest seven minutes of his life. In text time, that was about half a day. During that time he fiddled with his shirt, deciding to take it off and place it beside the three ties that were on the bed. Went to brush his teeth, and just glanced at his phone as if it would buzz.

When it finally did, she asked for his number. He sent it quickly, thinking she'd text him and he breathed a sigh of relief until he realized his phone was buzzing and it was a call. Who calls? I mean, should he answer? The _zuut zuut zuut_ of the phone left him no choice and he accepted the call.

"Hello?" he said rather high pitched before clearing his throat and adding "Uh.. hey,"

"Hey, Rick. What's up?" she said, the faint sound of wind wisping in the background catching him off guard.

"Is this a good time?" he heard his disconnected voice saying. Of course, it wasn't a bad time, she called him. What did people do on the phone? I mean, honestly.

"No, it's fine. I'm almost at my house," she replied. Rick could hear her open and close the door and the sound of her breathing as she made her way to her house. He wondered where she lived, they hadn't talked much about that. She greeted someone and said, "Hey, I'm going on the phone" before he heard the sound of her door click.

"You there?" she asked, as he stood mute, wearing his black undershirt and feeling all types of nervous.

"yeah, " he said with a squeak. "I'm here. So, my dad's coming to this event and I don't know what to do," he continued in one longwinded breath.

"Well, is he the only one going to be there?" she asked, he imagined her taking her bag off and putting it on her bed. Wondering if that was something she would do.

"Well no…"

"So you don't _have_ to see him the entire time?" she followed.

"Yeah, but" he began. "He's just such a dick!" he said.

"I'm sorry to say that you're stuck with him," she said and he could feel the smile from the other side of the line. "Do you wanna Skype?" he asked before he could stop himself. There was something about seeing her face that he felt he needed. That reassurance that shone in her eyes, the way she cocked an eyebrow.

"Sure. Let me just…" she began and the sound of things being strewn about caught his attention. His imagination ran wild.

"Ok," she said and his phone buzzed again as he went to turn on the lights. The smile that greeted him was a balm to his anxious heart.

"Hi," she said, "you're going to get dressed for this thing?" he remarked as he looked down at his casual top. He could glimpse the walls of her room, they were like pink but not.

"Yeah, actually what tie should I wear?" he asked, turning the camera to the three.

"Cornflower blue looks good with the shirt. And Rick, I'm not sure what your relationship is with your father, but he'll either have to get over whatever his baggage is or not. You decide if you're invested in the drama," she remarked, glancing past him for a moment.

"M, I'm going to order Dante's, you want a slice?" a tenor voice from across the room, "Hold on one second," she said to him and turned the phone to the large bay windows. She had muted the call and he couldn't hear the conversation.

A few moments later she returned, "Sorry, Glenn's getting us pizza as a treat," she said with a smirk.

"Must be nice to have a partner who feeds you," he said. He wasn't sure if he felt dejected that she obviously had a live-in mate, but they were just friends, right? Right? He fiddled with the tie she suggested and didn't fully hear her laugh until he saw her fall over onto her back.

"Padawan, Glenn's my roommate. Fishing much?" she said, giving him a knowing smile.

"Wait, let me introduce you before he leaves," she got up and the flurry of the moment gave Rick a glimpse into her life, cream walls with interesting art pieces flew by as she made her way to the kitchen and turned the camera.

"Say hi to Rick Glenn," she said. "Hi Rick" Glenn deadpanned. "Oh, you can't see him, sorry," Rick watched a bit amused as she maneuvered the camera. The kind face that greeted him put him at ease further the thick onyx hair swept back from his face giving him a distinguished look that reflected in his deep brown eyes. Glenn looked like someone who would be your biggest cheerleader and maybe steal your girl, he was a good looking man.

"Oh, it's you. Hey man," Glenn said and Rick wondered if they'd met before. "Hey, nice to meet you, Glenn. Sorry, I'm stealing your roommate away," Rick said a bit bashful to be monopolizing Michonne's time since she just got home.

"She's not," Glenn responded as Michonne slapped him on the arm, giving him a shove and causing the phone to jiggle. Rick laughed and flushed scarlet.

"Bye Glenn… go get me food before I eat you," he smiled as he watched her close the door before facing him fully.

"Sorry! My housemates are hooligans. I swear Glenn is always trying to start something," she said flicking her hair. Rick followed her hand as it grazed her collarbone and marveled at the bright yellow top she was wearing. He hadn't noticed before, and it made him smile more thinking that she'd wear something so colorful on what was sure to be another cold day.

"I should go," he said, glancing at the clock. "You don't want any more advice?" she asked with a bit of a pout, she was playing with him. "I think I'm good. And Michonne… Thank you," he replied.

"Of course kiddo. You'll be fine. If anything, drink a lot and steal a bottle of wine for later," she winked and he disconnected the call.

An hour into the event, Rick was taking full advantage of the open bar. The house was majestic. A three-story colonial, with winding staircases, opulent and high ceilings and a grand chandelier in the sitting room. Pristine looking people seemed to glide around in formal attire, black ties and flowing dresses that would pay for Rick's rent at his shitty old apartment for a year. The _money_ oozed from the pores of these people, and Rick wondered when it became too strange to be around his father's associates? He'd been privy to things like this growing up, but it just felt overwhelming. His thoughts drifted as he stuffed the 15th or so canape into his gullet and washed it down with a full glass of bourbon. He felt good, well descent, and the thought of being around a bunch of people he didn't care too much for dulled as he peeked his father speaking with Spencer. His old man looked sharp, dressed in a formal tuxedo and shiny black loafers he stood out with his salt-and-pepper hair and aura of authority. As if he sensed being watched he made eye contact with Rick and gestured for him to come over. Walking as if off to the gallows, Rick clenched his glass, taking a cautious sip and a deep breath.

"Richard," his father greeted, no hug, handshake, just the disappointed glare of a man who was watching his money run down the drain. "Franklin," Rick replied. Spencer, who watched the two chucked at the greeting until he realized they weren't joining in.

"As I said uncle Frank, Ricky here's been doing a great job. He's a natural leader, might consider running him in your home state in the next 10 years. Boy's got gumption," Spencer said, talking to someone who barely heard a word he said. Rick glanced as his cousin as if he'd sprouted a second head. He didn't really do much for the campaign but pass out papers, get coffee, and make sure that the halls were cleaned. Maybe he helped a bit on the polling numbers when their stats guy couldn't manage a simple analysis but it wasn't a big deal. At least Spencer was making him look good.

"Good to know he's a help," Franklin said with a dry tone. Spencer sensing the tension excused himself to no one in particular.

"You ready to come home next month?" Franklin said, not a question, but a declaration.

"You bet dad," Rick said, patting his father on the shoulder and turning to walk away.

"You've got one month to get your be-hind back home. And don't do anything foolish. I'm not going to bail you out again Ricky. You owe me," he heard Franklin say as he disappeared into the crowd.

The back bar was empty so Rick snuck around the back, grabbed a bottle of wine and poured himself another bourbon. He began making his way towards the festivities when Ms. Harrison's figure cast a shadow in his way. She wore a green dress, he thought it reminded him of pine trees with a neckline that showed her assets and her hair was in a fashionable up-do he didn't know how to describe.

"Where are you sneaking off to?" she asked, taking a sip of her champaign.

"Heading back to the hotel," he said downing the last of his drink and taking a few steps towards the doorway. She reached out and touched his forearm and he turned his head to the side in question.

"Want company?" she asked again, running her french manicured fingers along his bicep. Now Rick knew he could say yes and have a great time with his boss, shit, it had been at least two months since he'd hooked up with that girl in that town on a Saturday they had off. But he also knew that in the morning shit would get weird and he wasn't about to have any other reason for _Frank_ to think he was a complete fuck up.

"Thanks for the offer Ms. Harrison, but my girlfriend is waitin' for my call," he said. She seemed disappointed but pressed on which surprised Rick.

"What she doesn't know…" she said, moving her body to obstruct his exit.

"Well ma'am, I'm a one-woman kinda man and this is serious," he said, trying to let her down gently. Rick wasn't, but she didn't need to know that. Hell, he hadn't had a girlfriend since eight grade he's pretty sure, but again, not her business.

"You are a beautiful woman, Ms. Harrison," he flashed her a genuine smile before slipping past her and rushing for his coat. Rick was sure he dodged a bullet there and contemplated how he somehow always ended up in situations like that. Taking a glance at his phone he saw a picture message from his new friend.

_M: hope it wasn't all bad… _with a picture of her raising a piece of pizza towards him as a solute. It wasn't meaningful by any stretch of the imagination, but he found it endearing and so he quickly responded.

_R: took your advice, going to chug this bottle of wine I stole and try not to think about my boss coming onto me_

_M: … wait! What?!_

_R: hot blonde boss offered to take me home and guess what I did_

_M: nothing, because you're texting me. Wow. Isn't that sexual harassment? What did you say?_

_R: Said my girlfriend was waiting for me to call_

_M: You used the 'I have a girlfriend' card? Impressive and also does that work on women?_

_R: she didn't seem to care too much about it. _

_M: Damn, she's a viper. I think I'd like her, well, except for the being your supervisor and making it an awkward work environment. _

_R: I mean, it's one of those things guys are supposed to fantasize about but it just makes me feel.. Cheap. _

_M: feminist padawan. I like it. Well if you ever need a fake girlfriend I have a friend. _

Rick wondered what she was doing. Was she in her nice room grading papers and wearing glasses?

R: who?

_M: My girlfriend Sasha, she has a boo but she's a great actress_

_R: why not you?_

The seconds ticked by and he waited for her to respond.

_M: Kiddo, you couldn't handle me._

She said with a wink. The conversation transitioned to mundane conversations, some highlights from the party, her evening eating pizza with Glenn. He entered his hotel room with a shit-eating grin, falling onto his bed thinking about his good friend Michonne.

a/n: Hey! Sorry for the delay. I'm trying to post once a week, but life got the better of me. So I'm going to post today and do another posting later this week. After that, I should be on track. Hope y'all are enjoying this tale. It's mostly a slow burn, cuz I'm like that. Also, things will get explained (eventually). Like why Rick's dad is such an asshole and what's the deal with Michonne. I swear! -my best, my worst, AZ


	4. Chapter 4 a no good very bad day

**Month 6:**

Picking up her briefcase from the table, Michonne collected her notes from the lecture. Placing them gently into their proper folders. Everyone had vacated the room quickly after the heated debate that came from left field. They had been discussing organizational structures, nothing radical in and of itself. But then it all went wild, someone called another colleague a racist and a dummy, he dropped some f-bombs and she had to calm everyone down. They did not prepare her for this in grad school. I mean, she sighed again, realizing that she had another cold evening to enter before getting to the comforts of her relatively warm home. She knew she had to stop by her office first and made quick work of wrapping herself in a scarf, a hat, and gloves before making her way to her modest digs. That's at least what she thought of them, having been placed in the basement with all of the new faculty. She was contemplating where she'd go for spring break she heard two distinct knocks on the doorframe. No one was around moments ago, and she groaned inwardly when she made eye contact with her suitemate Dr. Porter. He was nice enough, and it still didn't make sense why he had a mullet in the 21st century, but he was tenured and that meant he could eat chicken wings in class if he wanted which from the gossip around the office was something he did once or was it three times.

"Heard there was a spirited row in your class," Porter said, glancing around her office. The decore a mixture of Professorly bookshelves, a few select pieces she'd acquired from estate sales when she was really into vintage artifacts, and her diplomas. She had to stunt somehow in this oppressive place.

"More like a temper tantrum that got swiftly dealt with. I appreciate your concern," she said quickly.

"You know, if you wanted some advice," he continued

"I'm actually late for a meeting with my editor, she's in town for a quick thing," she said taking out her phone to send a quick message.

Before another word could be muttered her phone chimed and she put her finger up as a sign, making a scene explaining to her editors assistant that she was on her way.

"Again, sorry about that. I have to run," she said, not waiting for him to respond before she shoved everything into her briefcase shut off the lights and promptly shut the door.

"Have a good night Dr. Porter. I really appreciate all of your advice," she said, the wind taking most of her speech as she sped out into the cold and towards her car.

Forty grown-ass minutes later, Michonne walked up the backstairs of her apartment with a heavy sigh. The learning curve was steep, and she didn't know if she was cut out for this, but she wanted it. Hell, the benefits alone as an unattached person were too good to pass up. Dropping her case on the kitchen floor, taking off her heavy boots and uncaccooning herself of her extra layers, she walked to the cabinet to the right of the stove and grabbed the open bottle of wine. No one was home, a welcome surprise. And she just needed a quiet night, some takeout and maybe a cuddle. After her second swig, she went to charge her phone and check the mailbox that Glenn had made for each of the roommates. The shoebox had little pieces of cardboard that delineated each person's mailslot. Glenn had even decorated each box the personal style of each roommate. Glenn's included a few beer stickers, a "gas, grass, or ass" sticker they picked up a few summers back when they'd gone hiking in the Grand Tetons, and an 'I heart anime'. Sasha's had some big guns on hers, the girl was really into _Call of Duty_, and some hearts and a smirking picture of her ginger brute of a beau. Michonne's mailbox had a sicker of _Jodie_ from Daria, her kindred, a picture of some cats dancing, and a "wine-o-clock" sticker that was the closest she'd let Glenn get her to _Live, Laugh, Love_ basic girl aesthetic.

A pile of mail sat on the counter, ready to be sorted, and she began diligently putting everyone's bills away. A few larger folders of Insurance options got sorted, and each person's magazines. At the bottom of the pile sat a burgundy envelope with gold leaf, a wedding invitation she guessed. It was addressed to Glenn, so she went to put it away but the return address surprised her, it was her old home address. She put it in Glenn's mailbox, with a sigh. Knowing this was going to happen, she expected it just not so soon. She picked up the last magazine and another envelope with the same monogrammed letters, embossed in a lovely black and gold leaf trim. This one was addressed to Sasha. Michonne almost laughed at the audacity of that man. He _knew_ she'd see this and it shocked her just how petty he was, to send invitations or a _save-the-date_ for what was supposed to be _their life_ changes. Shoving the envelope into Sasha's mailbox Michonne made her way back to the kitchen for more wine and decided to take a bath, taking hearty swings of her glass, she refilled and made her way to the bathroom.

Slowly taking all of her clothes off she stared at herself in the mirror, remarking at the bags under her eyes, the fullness of her adult body. She poked and prodded wondering if there was something missing from her, was she the problem? Sighing again and getting into the too-warm water she put her head back as the soft music of gave her some peace. How cliche, she thought, to be wondering if something was wrong with her when she was the one to leave her manicured life with her prince charming, at least that's what her cousins called him. He'd probably consider himself a king and Michonne, well she didn't believe in fairy tales. "Did I make a mistake?" she said to herself out loud, a question she'd asked herself over the last year and a half.

The sound of her phone going off, piqued her interest but she didn't feel like getting up just yet. It faded and started to ring again. Annoyed a bit at the intrusion, she dried her hands and answered.

"Oh shit, are you naked?" came a familiar voice as she stared at Rick's face. It took a whole 30-seconds for her to register that this wasn't a phone call and she was basically flashing her baby friend.

"Oh MY GOD! Hang up!" she screamed, before dropping the phone and clutching her chest.

Taking a few minutes to calm from the sheer embarrassment of being seen naked by her friend Rick, she got out of the tub, grabbed her purple plush robe and dried off. She called him back.

_M: You didn't see that_

_R: I don't know what you're talking about but if I did, I'd say you are very well endowed. _

_M: What do you want pervert?_

_R: What are you doing tonight?_

* * *

Michonne sat in the back seat of a rideshare in winter boots and her jacket pulled up all the way. They had pulled up to the bar and she'd managed to have a relatively pleasant conversation with the driver about baseball. Not that she knew anything about baseball but it reminded her that summer was a real thing and she was going to get there eventually.

The secret bar was far enough away from her house that she'd never had the pleasure. People milled about smoking outside and the bouncer asked for her identification. The warm air hit her and fogged her glasses, which she rarely wore but figured if she was going out on a school night she didn't need contacts. The soundtrack was a mix of 90s jams and a few 2k standards. Walking along the bar to her right, large swaths of young people in different stages of disrepair talked loudly at dark tables with ornate lamps and plush seats. Towards the back of the bar was a fireplace a nice shag rug and some tables where she spotted him.

"You made it!" he said, standing to embrace her and give her a kiss on the cheek. Which was a surprise but not unpleasant.

"Yeah, well I figured I could use another drink," she said taking off her jacket and hanging it off the soft chair he'd saved for her.

"Rough day?" he asked, placing a drink in front of her.

"Figured you could use it. Plus, everything here is good," he said with a smile. She took a sip of the herbaceous liquid, it tasted like elderflower and relaxation.

"Thanks! Two of my students got into a fight about nothing. And then when I got home my ex-fiance sent wedding invitations to my roommates. So yeah, rough life," she said taking a hearty swig.

"Your ex invited your roommates to their wedding?" he asked, eyebrows raised in shock. Taking a moment to examine him in the flesh, she saw he was wearing a grey cardigan and dark blue jeans. His hair seemed a bit longer than the last time she'd seen him on video chat. His sun-kissed face looked less warm from the lack of sun, but he looked good and healthy.

"Sorry. I'm oversharing. I'll be sure to tell you all about the sordid affair another time. The world is garbage," she said, finishing her drink and placing it a bit hard on the table. Rick went and got her another while she rubbed her tight-covered knees. "Why are you here?" she asked, taking time to unfurl from her own issues.

"I live here," he said with a shrug as he took a sip of his drink. "Wait! You're back?" she said with far too much enthusiasm.

"Looks like it. I'm still looking for a place, but I'm staying with a buddy so it's alright for now," he said. She watched him lean forward, placing his strong hands on his knees and sweeping his eyes across her face before landing on her chest and back up.

"Shouldn't I be buying you drinks?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. Sweeping her tongue over her lips to capture the moisture that threatened to spill down her lips onto her chin.

"You can buy me the next one. He said finishing his drink and watching her cross her legs.

After replenishing his beverage, Michonne sat watching him run his fingers through his hair before he turned his body to face her.

"Tell me everything," she said.

"Well, the campaign is over for now and the special election was a success. Monroe is on his way to Congress and I got a job through his stats guy. Wants to start an e-commerce firm and I'm broke so... Here I am," Rick replied. She was impressed.

"How does your dad feel about it?" she asked, not wanting to put a damper on the evening, but from the little she knew and was learning, his father factored into a lot of his life decisions. "Don't know. I'll tell him when I find a place," he said.

"You're ballsy kid," she replied, taking a swig of water to combat the heady feeling of the libations.

"Well, I'm sure he has a lot on his hands with my brother who basically fled the country two days ago with nothing but a note that said 'later' and a portion of his inheritance," Rick said, beaming at the news.

"What is up with you Girmes men and great escapes?" she asked, laughing at the tenacity of his brother who she didn't know from Job but who she imagined was just as sweet at Rick.

"As the Jov said 'it's my life, it's now or never' he sang with a bit of twang that surprised her. "Whatever you said, dork. So when do you start?" she asked, crossing her legs again and catching him glance at the movement. "Started on Monday. So tomorrow's my fifth day,"

"You work fast," she said, "You have no idea," he replied. The heat from the fire warmed her outsides as Ricks arresting stare bore holes into her.

"Enough work talk, what are you doing this weekend?" he asked as if she didn't have a mountain of grading and emails to get through.

"Professorly things," she said noncommittally.

"There's a festival, you should come with me," he said with certainty.

"I'll see what I can do," she replied. "It's close to finals," she said as if that would answer all of his questions.

"Come on. One day, can't hurt," he said giving her his best puppy dog eyes.

"I'll think about it. I do have to go. Office hours tomorrow," she said. "Ok, where are you going?" he followed.

"Home," she replied. "I know that, but where do you live?" he asked. "Lincoln Square" she replied a bit illusively.

"Perfect, me too," he said, offering to get them a ride together.

The sat in the back of another car, separated by the middle seat talking and laughing. The driver pulled up to Michonne's house and Rick got out as well.

"Where are you going?" she asked confused by his departure.

"I'm staying with my buddy on the next block. Looks like we're neighbors," he said standing at her door with his hands in his puffy jacket.

"Text me when you get home so I know you didn't get kidnapped," she said, leaning forward to embrace him. The tenderness of his embrace caught her by surprise again. They stood in front of her apartment holding one another for a few beats too long for it to be a goodbye hug.

"Sure mom. I'll be safe," he replied, taking a step back to stare at her face. Michonne thought he was a beautiful person, as the streetlights danced across his eyes and highlighted his long lashes. She pushed him playfully and leaned in and kissed his cheek.

"Goodnight neighbor," she said, grabbing her keys from her pocket and walking up the front stairs.

xxxxx

A/N: I'm going to live by that O'Town song and don't make promises cuz I never know how to keep them well. Anyway, thank you for reading! I appreciate all the reviews, it's a breath of fresh air from student life. I'm going to be a bit busy coming up so I'll try to post once every 2-weeks, but if things slow down, I'll go back to once a week. More story to come, more revelations, and maybe some drama. I really love writing fluff, so y'all just might have to make peace with that. Anyway, I appreciate all the kind words. Also, apologies for any errors. I wrote this and just wanted to share. Hopefully no enemas in this chapter. lol Thanks for letting me be part of the best ship!

my best, my worst,

AZ


	5. Chapter 5: a whole new world

_**Month 7:**_

The week wasn't off to a great start. It had been a month of working for _Sanctuary Sounds_, which he didn't understand why the name even existed, let alone what it had to do with e-commerce but his boss was eccentric, to say the least. His presence chapped him a great deal but beggars can't be choosers and Dwight had put in a good word for him, so he couldn't back out now. Plus, CEO Negan was never around and when he was, such as this week, he'd give their CFO Gregory hell, which Rick liked more than he was willing to admit. They'd finished up their progress report meeting and Rick was about to head out when Negan stopped him.

"How you doing there slugger?" Negan asked. "I'm doing well. Thanks, Mr. Negan for giving me a chance," Rick replied, using the voice he'd reserved for his father who wanted a lot of the same things Negan wants- attention, praise, and deference.

"Good. Real Good. So Ol Gregory here told me that you're pulling in a lot of money for me. A lot, and I think if things keep going this way, you're gonna be seeing some of that money coming your way. I'm impressed kid, you've got cojones," Negan's firm grip on Rick's shoulder was supposed to be affirming, Rick thought, but it made him feel almost childlike.

Rick was making Negan money, lots of it and he somehow managed to make more than he'd imagined fresh out of college. He'd even gotten some stocks in the company, which seemed a bit presumptuous but with some of his friends only getting paid pennies and not having sick days, this wasn't anything to turn your nose up at. "Thanks," he said, creating distance between himself and his boss. Negan talked at Rick for another 10 minutes before his cell phone went off "Sherry! Darlin- Sorry kid, duty calls," Negan said before departing.

The walk to the train was brisk and he'd forgotten his hat for this time of year. April was the cruelest month, and the city bustled with the tingle of Spring. It started to drizzle while he sat on the Blue line, watching the city change from grand skyscrapers, to decoupage of different architectural styles. Murals covered buildings along the Elevated Line. The familiar voice of the guy that told you what stops you came in fits and spurts as Rick cast his eyes at strangers who entered and exited the mental bullet. Somehow he'd lucked out and found an apartment with an old acquaintance from undergrad named Maggie Greene. She was in her first year of medical school and so she was seldom around. Plus, the rent was cheap, like pre-gentrification of the neighborhood cheap and he still didn't know why. Their property manager had said that the owner wanted people who would care for the place and Rick was content doing practically anything to stay in this place for a while.

He walked up to the second floor of his apartment, turning the key and pushing the door. The quiet arrested him. Maggie was gone again, surprise, and her cat Mooshi slinked around his feet as he took his shoes off and placed them by the door. Rick made quick work of putting together a sad sandwich of roast beef on rye and took bites walking towards his room. He turned on his bedside lamp and fell onto his queen-sized bed. The sheets haphazardly left in a rumpled mess. He'd made a resolution to make the bed, but who was he bringing home? Sighing deeply at the prospect of another night alone, he decided it was time to take Daryl's advice and start online dating. I mean maybe he'd get some, so it wouldn't be a complete wash. After spending 20 minutes looking for pictures that said "nice but not stalkerish" he gave up. He needed a second opinion.

R: _you got a minute?_

_M: not really but I'll give you one._

_R: I need dating advice_

_M: don't you have friends your age for that?_

_R: I need a girl's advice._

_M: ? girl_

_R: woman. God, I'm trying to set up a profile and I need to find pictures that don't make me look like a creep or too needy._

_M: Don't know if you have any of those. Your pics scream- Patrick Bateman._

_R: Who? _

_M: God, you're… nevermind. I have time this weekend to help you with your dating woes._

_R: Actually, now that you said something about the weekend. You want to go to my happy hour thing for my company? _

_M: As your what?_

_R: As my friend. Did I mention there was free food and drinks?_

_M: you had me at free. Where are we going?_

_R: well…. _

* * *

Friday came swiftly, and as Rick walked down the stairs of the bar, he wondered how many potential HR violations had occurred in these precise locations for companies like his. The mirrored walls cast ghastly shadows along the neon-colored floors. The railing was a bit sticky upon first inspection and when they reached the landing which opened up to a large room covered in more mirrors, a glowing bar to the right, high-tops and a few clustered lounge chairs and many TVs. To the far side of the room curved right and there were private rooms for groups to rent out. The pulse of "Please don't stop the music, music" reverberates in his teeth. They were team bonding according to their eccentric CEO, who wanted his "small but mighty" underlings to "let loose" and "build friendships". It wasn't terrible that their boss was basically going to shove alcohol into their hands and make them fraternize, what was terrible was the karaoke. From small, Rick had hated karaoke. It gave the brave an overconfidence in their vocal ability and the delusional space to really make everyone suffer.

He was about to go wash his hands when his boss grabbed him by the shoulder and ushered him to the bar. His compatriots were all around Negan as he extolled him with his big hand on his shoulder talking far too loudly. It was still early and they had the bar to themselves. After taking his shot with his coworkers, Rick found a seat at one of the high tops biding time. People had splintered into groups and he wasn't up to socializing just yet. So he sat while his friends by force talked to each other and the people they brought. Feeling a bit awkward at not being jovial, he headed back to the bar for another drink. Of course, Negan had decided to break the ice and start off with a rousing rendition of _Welcome to the Jungle_. Holding his watered-down cocktail, he chanced a glance at his phone— no missed calls and no texts, also no service. Someone else had started singing a god-awful version of _Save Tonight_ by Eagle Eye Cherry. The sound of heels clicking caught his attention over the din and he turned to face the fast-moving pair of legs and caught sight of her. He couldn't see most of her face covered by a scarf but the yellow pea-coat was eye-catching, made him think of dijon mustard.

"Sorry, I'm late. I had office hours today and had to deal with a crying student," she said in a flurry of words and removal of her layers. He was gobsmacked at the blood-red sweater dress she had on, glancing up and down at the tight fit. She definitely wasn't a girl by any stretch of the imagination and she looked _tasty_. Maybe those drinks weren't as watered down as he thought. Shaking his head a bit to break out of his musings, he stood from his perch and gave her a hug.

"It's cool. We just got here. You look real good," he said, the sides of his eyes tingling in that tell-tale sign of a buzz.

"You want a drink?" he asked.

"How about five?" she replied, dropping her belongings on the barstool and turning to give him her full attention. He wondered if he looked as good as she did. He'd put in a bit of effort wearing some pants that fit right and a nice button-down, she liked the blue before so that's what he went for.

"Open bar, get whatever you want," he said with a shrug, trying and maybe failing to seem nonchalant.

"Thanks kiddo!" she said, resting her hand on his shoulder. This time, unlike his boss's shoulder grabs, he leaned into her warm hand. Noticing a simple gold ring on her middle finger with a cursive M. It was understated, whereas she was beyond anything he'd imagined.

"You gonna sing?" she asked a few minutes after getting a drink and taking a hearty sip.

"Nah, I'm not into this," he said gesturing towards his co-workers and the experience at large.

"Come on now, really? We can do a duet," she smiled at him, her eyes shining in the disco ball lighting.

"I don't know any songs from the 1800s," he said,

"You are agest! And unlike you, I know what the kids are into and have range. Youth is truly wasted on the youth," she sighed, moving her hands to his face to give it a squeeze. Before he could respond a few coworkers came to the bar to greet him.

"This is my friend Michonne. This is everyone," he said, letting each person introduce themselves. After introductions were made Michonne slipped away to sign up for a couple songs, while he chatted with his colleagues.

After someone absolutely smashed _Walk the Line_ by Johnny Cash, he heard her name called. They'd been there for about an hour at this point and she'd gone up once before, but this time he was floored when she stared. She was rapping to Salt-N-Pepa's _Shoop_. Not giving two shits about anything, she even went into the running man at one point and Rick almost spat out his drink. The song ended to thunderous applause and a few wolf whistles that turned Rick's mouth downwards into a frown. As Michonne made her way back to him, Rick noticed his boss approach her and say something that made her laugh. He liked Negan enough but what in the everliving fuck did he think was going to happen? Plus, he was 96% sure he was married. Rick watched her lean in to talk over the music, she shook her head and smiled. His legs were carrying him before he could stop himself to stand by her.

"Ricky, I was just telling you _friend _here that she does a good running man," Negan said, as always far too loudly than necessary.

"She was really good," Rick said, placing some more space between the two.

"When are you going up there son?" Negan asked next, not even bothering to look at Rick.

"Was just about to talk to Michonne here about our duet. You don't mind, do you?" Rick asked in his best placating the boss's voice.

"No sweat off my balls. But first, let's get this group another round," he yelled to the cheers of his coworkers. Rick rolled his eyes while Michonne giggled at his childish reaction. Negan grabbed them each by the shoulder and ushered them back to the bar. In the mood for talking out his ass, Rick thought, Negan gave a 'cheers' that was both unnecessary and too long. Everyone cheered each other and Rick slipped his arm into Michonne's stealing her away for a minute.

"You good?" she asked him, his face was turning a bit red, maybe from the heat of the place, his jealousy, wait... jealousy? He wasn't jealous, just annoyed that Negan couldn't keep his sleazy eyes off his _friend._

"I'm fine. So what are we gonna sang?" he said, his accent coming on a bit strong, like him at the moment. Their arms were still clasped and he could feel the heat radiating off of her body.

"Why don't you pick, _son," _she responded with mischief in her voice.

"You're terrible," he replied. "You still like me," she countered, resting her hand on his cheek once again.

"Anyone with a modicum of sense likes you," he replied.

"Look at you and your four-syllable words. Ok, padawan, pick us a song," she said, running her fingers over his hair in an affectionate way. He wasn't sure if it was sisterly or like loverly but she smelled great and her arm that he was holding felt soft.

"Sure. Sure. I'll be right back," he said dashing off.

Hour two point five had passed and Rick waited for his song selection to be called. Fortunately, there as food now. Some good thinking by Negan's assistant resulted in a large spread that everyone attacked like a pack of wild roamers. Rick was reaching for another canape when he heard his song selection. He grabbed Michonne's hand before she could chicken out and handed her the microphone. Mustering up all the courage he could muster he began the song

"_I got chills/They're multiplying/ And I'm losing control/Cause the power you're supplying_

_It's electrifying!" _

Michonne looked gobsmacked at him. He forgot to mention to her that he could sing, like actually sing, and when her verse began he was pleasantly surprised. She wasn't Beyonce but she had a pleasant clear voice that would do Olivia Newton-John proud. The duo went through _You're The One That I Want, _with Rick even doing a shimmy and the signature back and forth lean. They were magnetic, and when the song ended the entire bar went apeshit. People came up to Rick and pat him on the back a first for the rather reclusive new hire. Negan gave him a wink, which Rick didn't know was a "you did good" or "you're gonna fuck that lady" wink. You could never tell with him, but Rick was exhilarated. Sure, he hated karaoke, but Michonne made it, dare he say, fun. He chanced a glance to see her flushed and smiling like a cat who ate the canary.

"You set me up," she said, walking back to the table they'd claimed.

"What? I thought I did good," he replied, downing his water in one gulp, water running down the sides of his mouth and down his chin.

"Humble too. I didn't know you had lungs like that," she said, taking a napkin from the pile on the table and wiping his chin.

"I've just full of surprises. You should find out some of them," he said, licking his lips in a rather suggestive manner.

"Oh, I bet," she said, looking at him as though for the first time.

"Go out with me," he said before his brain could compute what was coming out of his mouth.

"We are out," she said with a wave of her hand towards their surroundings.

"No, I mean, go _out out_ with me. Let me show you a good time," he said, resting his elbows on the table and looking at her expectantly. Somewhere in Rick's mind he was coming to conclusions in his mild intoxication that he'd put aside. They talked all the time, he'd see her house, virtually, but still. She was amazing and interesting and soft and he was honestly scared if he didn't ask now he'd chickened out. Michonne set her deep brown eyes on him, looking at him as though she could read his soul and smirked. Actually smirked.

"What do you want to show me Rick?" she asked, her voice coming out a bit low and seductive.

"Everything," he said, taking a chance and moving a stray dreadlock off her shoulder.

"So to be clear you are asking me on a date?" she replied. He watched as her eyelashes brushed against one another as though in slow motion.

"Absolutely. Come on Michonne, what do you say. Let me show you the world," Rick said with conviction.

"No karaoke?" she laughed as his lips scrunched up as though he ate something sour.

"Not a chance. What do you say?" he waited for her response.

-xxxxxx

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a/n: Nothing much to say except thanks for reading and affirming the fluff! Although there was no dancing to be seen, there's still a lot more on the horizon. and most of it is real fun. Wishing everyone all the best!


	6. Chapter 6

_**Month 8: **_

_**She said "yes"**__. _

Michonne clutched her briefcase tightly as she made her way out of her car and prompt up the stairs of her apartment. She had _plans_ tonight. The weather had warmed considerably and she wasn't sure what she'd wear with the forecast predicting snow later that night. She didn't want to go too far in the event the snow got too bad. You never knew with this weather. What was it they said when she moved here 10 years ago 'if you don't like the weather, wait a minute'. She chuckled at the memory of her first year in the city, how much contempt she held for the inconsistency. But she digressed, she had about an hour before she had to leave and go to some undisclosed location for dinner. She just had an address, and instructions to wear something sensational. Walking into her apartment all the lights were on.

"Hello? Do y'all have light bill money?" she yelled into the relatively silent apartment no one responded. She grabbed her large umbrella and walked on silent feet towards the bedrooms. The bathroom door creaked open and Michonne raised her umbrella as though a sword and stopped midair as Sasha emerged with headphones blasting. Sasha screamed, Michonne screamed and dropped the umbrella onto her shoulder.

Yanking her headphones out of her ears Sasha glared "What the hell is your malfunction?"

"You weren't answering and all the lights were on," Michonne responded in her defense.

"Umm… headphones" Sasha said, thrusting them in her roommate's face.

"Why are all the lights on?" Michonne responded, ignoring her roommates' frustrated posture.

"I'm here, alone. And I got scared," Sasha replied and turned abruptly to head to her room.

"Fine. I'm sorry," Michonne called after her roommate who had disappeared into her sanctuary. Taking a few minutes in her own room, she went to her closet to pick an outfit. This was a date, after all, not their first, but the second. Which had surprised her at the ease which things had been going in their relationship? Were they even... whatever, they were dating and she was learning a lot about Rick. Michonne had taken her work clothes off and was walking around in her underclothes when Sasha burst in.

"You can't be wearing those panties. Who are you?" her friend commented, looking at the comfortable grey cotton patines.

"Did I ask you? And what did I tell you about bursting in here? What if I was getting myself off?" Michonne sighed, turning to face her roommate.

"You moan too loud for that to be happening. And plus, I know you need my help to trap this young buck, so I'm here to help," Sasha said walking towards her closet and grabbing an outfit.

The striped black and white cross-wrap matching set would fit her perfectly. A bit form-fitting but approachable, and most importantly comfortable. Sasha then went to her dresser and grabbed a nice lingerie set.

"What do you think is going to happen tonight?" Michonne eyed her friend.

"By the grace of sweet brown baby Jesus, you're gonna get properly fucked for the first time in two years. Amen," Sasha said with a flourish as she descended into organizing an outfit. "My job is done. Good luck and most importantly, let's talk about summer plans when you get back tomorrow,"

Michonne wasn't quick enough to respond as her roommate and one of her closest friends disappeared out of her room, leaving her with a dare. She could wear this and give her date a heart attack, or just go for actually casual. But Sasha, once again, didn't do casual, and she'd been instructed to do this. With a deep sigh, she took her towel off the back of her door and walked to the shower to refresh before the night ahead.

* * *

Michonne felt a sense of déjà vu walking through the alley towards their destination. The wind howled along the bustling streets this close to the lake. A barrage of drunk or slightly inebriated college students paraded along the streets, it was early, round 8 pm and yet the shenanigans and loud music of the bars wafted in the air with the sounds of the El rumbling by. The alley opened onto a flight of stairs leading down to a door. She pushed the door open to reveal a Prohibition-area styled bar. Polished wood and velvet stools rested against an oak bar with couples milling about chatting in low voices. A selection of tables were stationed to the left of the bar, and red and green neon lights cast ghastly shadows. The bartender greeted her and ask for her reservation, which she provided quickly. He swept her away to the far corner of the room, where her date sat behind a red-linen table a smile plastered on his face. Rick got up quickly to embrace her, giving her a firm hug and a kiss on the cheek. She'd worn a black duster which stopped just below the knee, which he offered to help take off of her. With her duster secured on the wall hooks, he looked as if he was going to choke.

"You… wow. Ok, well, wow. Damn." he'd managed after they'd both taken their seats at the table.

"It's nice to see you too. Are you alright there?" she asked, taking a sip of her water. Before she left the house, she felt a bit uncertain about wearing this two-piece tweed skirt that cut mid-thigh and this sheer cream mid-sleeve crop top, but his response alone was worth it.

"I'm... good. Great actually. You look great," he said, a slight blush tinting his face in the mood lighting.

"I like the hair," she complimented, noting that he'd slicked it back, curls resting behind his ears. He'd worn a simple cornflower blue shirt and black slacks, which complimented him nicely.

"Trying something new. Not serial killer-y is it?" he asked, which she umm'd a response. Before he could respond, their waiter came to get their drink orders and quickly disappeared. They'd spent a few moments staring at one another and enjoying the quiet din of the bar. After their drinks had arrived, they leaned into the comfortable silence.

After a first-round, they loosened up a bit. Michonne, taking a moment to run to the washroom.

"Fess up, how did you get an in?" she said, wondering how he'd managed this. The bar, which was a speakeasy, and there was a select criteria for accessing the libations they were enjoying.

"I'm a member," Rick said, putting one firm hand on the table and tilting his head as a challenge.

"I call bullshit. Are you trying to get me alone Grimes?" she said, watching him come alive at the accusation.

"Absolutely. Which is why when you finish this drink we're going to go have dinner," he said, moving to clasp her hand which rested casually against her glass. The warmth of his fingers was a distraction as she asked, "Where are we going Rick?"

"It's close. I promise," he said, taking a sip and giving her the 'you know exactly where we're going' look that started at the tips of her fingers and found purchase in the core of her body.

"You're being very presumptuous now padawan," Michonne replied, sliding her leg up his calf.

"You're full of shit, you know that," he said, while a pearl of laughter escaped her perfectly painted lips.

"Come on, let's go then. I'm actually hungry," she said, finishing her drink and getting up. Turning to get her coat, she watched him watching her put her jacket on.

"You're not gonna need that," he said putting his arm around her waist, leaving a generous tip on the table, and ushering them up another set of stairs into a hotel lobby.

* * *

"Oh my God, that's so good," she moaned. They were laying on a rather large king size bed, shoes off, sharing a rather large piece of chocolate cake. The meal had been spectacular, which surprised Michonne. Of course Rick had done his due diligence and gotten them some Rooste. He'd regaled her with it being the best soul food in the city to which she vehemently denied during their first date. But as she ate her meal and later her words, she admired that he actually listened to her and proved her wrong.

"I told you," he said with triumph, "I'm gonna have to loosen a button after all that," he continued leaning back on the headboard and giving a big sigh.

"You were right. Goodness, you're such a gloater," she said, turning the spoon in her mouth and licking the last vestiges of the chocolate. "Just preparing you for our future…" he said.

"Our what?" she said, waiting to see if he'd double down on his statement.

"You know, like when you finally decide to let me meet you friends in person and they love me. That kind of stuff that couples do," he offered.

"Is that what's happening? We're a couple now…?"

"Michonne," he said, tilting his head again. "You want me to ask you to be my girlfriend or something? Didn't they do promise rings in your day… ya know, during the middle ages?"

Michonne spun on him so quickly in a flurry of pillows that Rick didn't have a moment to gather what was happening. She'd gone for sitting squarely on his lap and squeezing his face. She'd been taken aback, and for once she was grateful to have the space that only age and a failed engagement could provide

"I'm not saying no Rick… Let's just take it slow," she replied.

Her legs rested on either side of him as he lounged against a heap of fluffy pillows. She hovered over him, watching the ways his eyes jutted all over her face stopping to take a snapshot of each part of her. On instinct, she leaned forward, bosom-first into his personal bubble. His breath coming out of his chocolate scented mouth tickled her nostrils. Hands found purchase in his curls as he pushed her down a bit to make room for their first kiss. Their lips touched one another and the whooshing of her heart arrested her for a second, a moment. So soft, she hadn't expected that. The featherlike nips firmed rather quickly as the two rolled around their bed for the night. Finding her way back on top of him, Michonne took a moment to glance at his handsome face. Running her dedicated painted fingernails along his chiseled jaw and against his collarbone, he listened to his breath quickening, the pull of his hands along her exposed thighs. Paying special attention to each button, she felt herself warm all over as each peek of exposed flesh came into view. The sound of her zipper teeth racing down made her smile.

"I thought you said you wanted to take it slow?" Rick quirked an eyebrow at her. She laughed at the audacious nature of him.

"I'm not a nun Rick. I want us to date. This isn't high school, we don't have to go steady if you want to fuck me," she said not mincing words. She wasn't trying to make him feel bad, but she wasn't interested in just jumping because he didn't know how to date.

"I'm not…" he began and she put her hands right in between them, expertly undoing his slacks button and zipper.

"Listen, we're friends first, and I rather like having you around so don't think too much about it. This is the second date, let's just take it slow," she said, moving her hand into the waistband of his boxer brief.

"I'm not a causal kinda guy Michonne… ummm... I don't just fuck all my freinds," he said closing his eyes as she made contact with her destination.

He'd managed to get his hands under her skirt as they talked through and she felt his firm fingers make contact with her center.

"Just.. yeah.." she sighed as he worked her slowly "Give me a little time to… god, yeah…" she couldn't help but come to distraction at the way he played with her "Fuck… just give me a little time, that's all. We can come to some agreement about how this looks," she said lifting up slightly to slide his pants off.

Rick's face took on a few different emotions, from obvious displeasure as his eyes squinted to slits, to raging lust as she watched those same eyes open wide, pupils blown to hell and his lips pursed together in concentration.

"Oh we're gonna come to something…" he said, taking a moment to flip them over so he could position himself to hover right above her. The sploshing sound of her foot hitting something moist and sticky shocked her.

"Did I just?" she said through laughs. "Oh my god. There's cake all over my foot. Rick!" she said as she felt his entire body shake with laughter.

"Stop it! You dropped me into cake… Rick!" she tapped at him, but he ignored her complaint, lifting her left foot out of the container. "Good to know you're flexible," he said, grabbing his shirt from the other side of the bed to clean the contents off her feet and sneaking a quick lick, which wasn't as unpleasant as she'd imagined it would be.

"Come on now…" Rick said sliding off the bed as she rested on her elbows, finding the way he looked, shirtless, with smudges of chocolate across his cheek, in navy boxer briefs- absolutely perfect. "Let's get you cleaned up as we can get a little dirty," Michonne laughed as they made their way to the ensuite bathroom.

-xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

a/n: So sorry for the delay. Coursework is a bear. But I have a few new chapters that I'll be dropping in fairly quick succession. Thanks to everyone for reading and for the comments. I legit laugh so hard when I read them. So... We get a date, there's some more cute and a little bit of drama on the horizon. Thank you for giving this little story of mine a shot. (sorry for any typos, I'm a work in progress) til next time!


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